


Miracle at 221B Baker Street

by Miss_Molliarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sherlock Secret Santa Gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Molliarty/pseuds/Miss_Molliarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wonderful things happen at Christmas, even at 221B Baker Street!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miracle at 221B Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for [withaflourish](http://withaflourish.tumblr.com) for the 2011 Tumblr Sherlock Secret Santa!
> 
> I really hope you like it :D Have a very Merry Christmas sweetie!  
> xo  
> Katy

'Christmas time is heeeeeere, happiness and cheeeeeeer, fun for all, that children call, their favourite time of yeeeear...'

"What in the bloody hell are you watching?" Sherlock was still half asleep, his blue robe hanging askew on his shoulders over his rumpled pyjamas.  
"It's Charlie Brown's Christmas." John was on the sofa, already dressed and sipping his tea.  
"Why?"  
"Why is there a Charlie Brown Christmas, or why am I watching it?"

The answer to John's question was a scowl. Still, even with the sour morning face and the rumpled dark curls and the surly demeanor, John smiled at Sherlock and was determined not to let his boyfriend ruin his Christmas spirit. This was the first Christmas they'd spent together and John's spirits were high, for many reasons. Plus, it was fun to mess with him and watch him get all grumpy over everyone being 'so damned cheerful' as he would say.

"There's tea in the pot if you want some."  
"Of course I want some. Any texts? Has Lestrade called yet?"  
"It's Christmas Eve, Sherlock."  
"Your point? People die, get killed, commit suicide... the whole lot, no matter what it says on the calendar."  
"True. But still... no, there's been no calls or texts."

With a mug of tea in hand, Sherlock trudged into the sitting room and very pointedly reached for the remote, but John was more awake and quickly snatched it up. Though, he did change the channel. The Muppet Christmas Carol was on and he smiled with delight and beamed at Sherlock who had let his head fall back in his chair and noisily groaned.

"That's one mystery I'll never solve."  
"What's that then?"  
"Why people are so enamoured with talking bits of stuffed fabric."  
"I believe that might fall into your generalization that most people are idiots."  
"Hmmm...that's a given though."

It was obvious that Sherlock wasn't enjoying anything that morning, while John had a smile plastered across his face.

"Oh come on, it's just a bit of fun. It only happens once a year."  
"It's a poor excuse...." both of them went silent and stared at the telly after Sherlock's statement was spoken in unison with Michael Kane's. John had to set his tea down he was laughing so hard. Sherlock's face was dour but for a hint of embarrassed colour across his cheeks and nose.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... but that was brilliant, made my morning." John stood and walked over, placing a small kiss on Sherlock's cheek. The more grumpy of the two flinched out of habit of keeping his facade intact while John was busy donning his scarf and coat.  
"Where are you off to?" Sherlock pouted.  
"It's Christmas Eve, I have things to do, to pick up. There's a small party at the surgery and the station."  
"Why wasn't I invited?"  
"You were. Are you going?"  
"No."

John nodded and smiled. "I'll pick up a tree while I'm out."  
"A tree? Ugh God, why do we need a tree? It's just going to shed needles and then die and then we'll have a brown twig on the table for Bank Holiday."  
"Stop grousing. I'll take care of everything." Leaning down, John kissed him properly this time and then smiled. "Cheer up Scrooge."  
"Mmmph..... bah humbug," He said to no one in particular and stared at the telly.

"Why am I still watching this?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ah John, you're here."  
"Yes. And you were right, he isn't very keen on Christmas."

Mycroft half-smiled at John and sat behind his desk. "He never was. Sherlock didn't understand what all the fuss was about."

A brown paper carrier bag was produced with a small box inside. "Somehow though, I think this year may be different." Mycroft said as he handed the bag over to John.

"How so?" John peered inside the bag and smiled, knowing exactly what the small box contained.

"Well, he's got someone he cares about to spend Christmas with now. Arguably, he's never had that before." Mycroft squinted and leaned back in his chair, regarding John and reading every emotion that showed on his face.

You can imagine the Christmas dinners...

There was no intention to change Sherlock in any way, John only wanted to show him that he cared. Sherlock could hate Christmas all he wanted after this one, so long as he knew that John was there. Wouldn't hurt if Sherlock indulged him on some of the more corny aspects of Christmas that John enjoyed so much. That might be a little much to ask, but, miracles do happen sometimes.

John stood when he saw the time on Mycroft's ornate desk clock. "Sorry to dash but, there are a few more things I need to do and people to see. Thanks for this though... it means a lot."

"No trouble at all." Smiling, Mycroft swivelled in his chair. "Oh and John!"  
"Hmmm?"  
"If he manages to crack a smile on Christmas morning, take a picture. It's rare."  
"Right."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was downright bored. Everything on his mobile, on the telly, even on the internet was Christmas. There were no texts, no phone calls, no nothing.... and John had taken his gun to save the security deposit on the flat. Well, the second security deposit anyway.

Sighing heavily and relenting, Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck and swung his long coat on, stuffing his hands into his gloves as he descended the stairs of the flat.

The streets were packed with people shopping at the last minute, families, the occasional man trying to decide on something for his wife or girlfriend, partner. Then it hit him. The realization that John may be expecting a gift. "Blast!" Sherlock chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment and texted his brother.

Coming to see you  
Need advice  
S

Advice? From me? For you?  
Are you high?  
M

NO!  
S

Swanning in with an air of entitlement that always surrounded him, Sherlock made an entrance to his brother's office, flustering his PA in the process.

"I need something, for John."  
"For Christmas?" Mycroft looked like the cat that ate the canary and was highly amused. "How festive of you little brother."  
"Can it Mycroft." Sherlock huffed and strolled round the office nervously, spinning the obscenely large globe by the window. "It means a lot to him, that's all."  
"Well I never thought I'd see the day. We'll have to find out who won the pool."  
"Are you going to help me or not?"  
"I can't." The older Holmes brother said simply.  
"What? Why not?"  
"John's not my boyfriend, he's yours. You have to find something yourself."  
"I don't know what to get... and it's Christmas Eve. There's probably only dodgy looking pairs of socks left in the shops."  
"Maybe you don't need to get him anything Sherlock." Sherlock watched his brother for a moment while Mycroft explained what he was getting at. "This is the first Christmas John has a reason to celebrate Christmas with someone... without needing a rifle."

Sherlock regarded his older brother, staring for a moment and realizing what he could do for John.

"Thanks."

He rose and strode out of Mycroft's office in a swirl of dark coat and had his mobile out in seconds.

'I'm aware this is an unusual request but....'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late when Sherlock returned to the flat at Baker Street with a small wrapped parcel under his arm. The fireplace was lit and John was fast asleep on the couch, most-likely tuckered out from decorating the small Christmas tree he'd set on their desks. Sherlock huffed a laugh through his nose and went to place John's gift under the tree when he saw that there was one already under the lighted pine.

'For Sherlock, With Love, John'

An inner argument took place in Sherlock's mind, but his patience was not the best. Thankfully it was a box tied with a red bow so all he had to do was pull on the ribbon and let it fall to his side as he sat in a chair opposite the couch. It was a good thing he was seated though; when he opened the lid and pulled away the tissue, he found a small, stuffed dog with one worn ear and it's little red tongue faded to a dull pink. But he recognized it immediately.

"Oh my god... Topper!"

Carefully he took the small dog out of the tissue and held it in his large hands while he remembered all the 'adventures' he and this little dog had together. That's why only one ear was worn. When he was small, he would hold the toy by one ear and go in search of trouble, or to solve who stole all the biscuits from the tin. It was always Mycroft. Sherlock had not seen the little dog in ages. He had been packed away with all of his other childhood things when he'd gotten to be 'too mature' for such things. Topper had been the first Christmas gift he could ever remember receiving, and now John had given it back to him, making it brand new in his mind.

"You know you were supposed to wait until morning to open your gift."

"It's... it's after midnight. I thought you were asleep."

John sat up and yawned, ruffling his rumpled hair. "Well, you know I can never fully sleep if you're not here. I was only dozing."

Sherlock knew that John would have had to go to Mycroft to obtain the Christmas gift so he only smiled and said "I guess you've gone and gotten yourself into Mycroft's pocket then haven't you?"

"Little bit yeah. It was worth it though, to see that look on your face."

Sherlock's mouth turned up at the corners in one of his rare genuine grins before rising out of his chair to join John on the couch, plucking his gift to John from under the tree.

"As long as we're both awake... I have something for you too." Sherlock handed the small, poorly wrapped parcel to John, his other hand still clutching his childhood toy gently.

John blinked at Sherlock when the gift was placed in his hands until there was nothing left for him to do but open it. Once he did, his eyes were as big as saucers and he laughed, delighted. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's gotten themselves into owing a favour!" The gift was John's stocking from when he was a boy; an oversized, knitted sock in red white and green and his name stitched on it. Sherlock had thought on what fun John must have had at Christmas before he had grown and went into the Army and how it would be nice for him to have that little momento back. So he had texted Harry and after a bit of confusion over the texting, had called her instead. She had it tucked away but gave it to Sherlock since he had taken a very long and very expensive cab ride to her flat.

"How did you get Harry to give this up?" He asked, not taking his eyes from his name stitched in the stocking, feeling the wool between finger and thumb.

"Oh you know, I just gave her a bottle of chardonnay and it was easy."

Shocked, John looked at Sherlock and uttered "You didn't!"

"Of course I didn't... you daft man! Just like you, now I owe her a favour. Most likely it'll be talking her up so that she'll be back in your good books."

Sherlock smiled again, mirroring John's happy grin before he stood to place his stocking on one of the hooks along the mantle in front of the fireplace. Looking over at the tree, Sherlock noted that John had received many other gifts from the people at the station and the surgery, he was always the more personable of the two, but Sherlock knew he deserved it. Quietly he got up off the couch, placed Topper under the tree (to guard John's presents... and if you were to ask Sherlock if that's what he meant to do, he would deny it vehemently) and walked toward the fireplace. He wrapped his long arms around John from behind and buried his face in his doctor's neck, sighing happily. "Merry Christmas John."

One of John's care-worn hands covered a spot on Sherlock's forearm. "Merry Christmas Sherlock."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, they came out, made tea and John opened the rest of his gifts. Included were the contents of his stocking.

Neither of them had filled it, they had told each other so while staring at it with wonder. They decided that it was Mrs. Hudson playing Father... er... Mother Christmas.

But Mrs. Hudson had been away. Neither of them knew that.


End file.
